


Holding Up This Fortress

by Nevanna



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where Jessica chooses to spend the night, whether it's in a room with a smashed-in door and walls, or in an expensively reinforced apartment, probably has nothing to do with how safe she'll feel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Up This Fortress

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story to fill the "stalkers" square for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, although the stalking is less of a present threat than it is part of the characters' backstories. Further content warning for a particularly graphic threat courtesy of Jessica.
> 
> The title is from "Citadel" by Anna Nalick.

When they reach the entrance to the subway that will take Jessica home, Trish says, “You don’t have to go back there right now.”

“I kind of do,” Jessica says. “It’s where all my stuff is.”

“It’s also where most of the walls still have holes in them.”

“Either I’ll scrape up the money to get it fixed, or I’ll start a new interior decorating trend.”

“And until one of those things happens, my place is quieter and safer.”

Jessica widens her eyes and raises the pitch of her voice to a breathy falsetto. “Like, oh my _God_ , Patsy! Are you inviting me for a sleepover?” She claps her hands. “Can we do each other’s nails? Pretty please?”

“Shut up. Nobody on the show talked like that, and you know it.” But Trish is laughing as she says it. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a brat?”

“Yeah, when they’re being _nice_.”

“If you ever make me really mad,” Trish says thoughtfully, “I guess I can get my revenge by painting your nails pink while you sleep.” Instead of answering, Jessica looks up abruptly, as if she’s heard somebody scream for help. She also might be remembering any of the times that Kilgrave forced her into outfits that she would never choose for herself, and then ordered her to appreciate them. “I’m sorry, Jess. Terrible joke.”

“It’s not that. I just keep thinking I see…” Jessica shakes her head. “You know. Force of habit, I guess.”

“I understand.” When they were seniors in high school, Jessica caught one of “Patsy’s” stalkers in the act, slammed him against the nearest wall, and threatened to pull his intestines out through his nose and use them as a clothesline if he tried to put his hands on Trish again. After the creep ran away, so hastily that he almost fell down, she put an arm around Trish’s trembling shoulders and told her that everything was going to be okay. But Trish couldn’t keep from worrying about what she would do if (or when) someone else came after her, especially if she happened to be alone. 

Looking back, she knows how Jessica must have felt whenever she thought she saw someone in a crowd who looked like Kilgrave, or wondered if she was sharing a subway car, an elevator, a food truck line, with one of his puppets. Even now that he’s gone, where Jessica chooses to spend the night, whether it’s in a room with a smashed-in door and walls, or in an expensively reinforced apartment, probably has nothing to do with how safe she’ll feel. “There’s no rush,” Trish says softly, reaching out and grazing her friend’s hand with her own. “And I’m not just talking about where you decide to crash.”

“I’ll think about it.” Jessica lets her fingers twine with Trish’s for a moment. “And, you know, thanks.” She punctuates this with one of her best scowls. “Just stay the hell away from my fingernails.”

Trish puts on as serious a face as she can. “You have my word.”


End file.
